


Splintered Dreams

by agent_starbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Banter, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s06e14 Monday, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Sexual Tension, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck
Summary: 161. “Well how was I supposed to know not to open the box?!” 172. “I’m always flirting with you. Keep up.”Tumblr Prompt. Season 6 UST, Post-Monday, Mulder needs a place to stay.





	Splintered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> “I know you spend too much time alone. And I know… that on one lonely night you invited Mulder to your bed.”

It’s a rainy, Wednesday night in Georgetown. The kind of rainy night where the city seems to slow to a halt, the damp settling deep into every crack and crevice and coating everything in sight with the shiny gloss of rain.

Scully sits on her sofa in the warm, amber glow of her apartment, working her way through a basket of clean laundry. She’s already showered, finished typing her case report, and finally got around to fixing her broken silverware drawer. Using and rewashing the same fork for three weeks had been getting a bit ridiculous and, since her new onset of insomnia, she’s had more time to get neglected tasks around the house completed.

Last night she even cleaned out the cabinet under her bathroom sink.

She pauses to look out her window. Droplets of rain greet her on the other side of the glass panes, peering back at her with curious eyes, before trickling down to the world below. They never stay for long. Nobody ever does. An overwhelming sense of loneliness drapes itself over her like a cold, dark cloud and she shivers. 

_Except Mulder_ , she thinks. _There’s always Mulder._

The obnoxious ring of her phone cuts through the calm stillness of her apartment, and she nearly jumps off her sofa in surprise before reaching for it on the side table.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scully,” the rough, sleep-calloused voice croaks on the other end. “Did I wake you?”

She rolls her eyes, an amused grin spreading across her face. If she had a nickel for every time Mulder had called and asked her that on any given night, she wouldn’t need to work for the FBI. She wouldn’t need to work at all. 

“No, um, actually, I was just sitting here folding laundry,” she says, receiver nestled between her ear and shoulder as she methodically folds a t-shirt in thirds, then in half, placing it atop the other freshly laundered items on her sofa. She doesn’t mention that sleep has eluded her for two nights in a row. 

“Why? Everything okay?” She pauses, sifting through the pile of clothes to search for a mate to her missing sock.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, I um, well, I couldn’t sleep. They installed new carpet in my bedroom while I was away at work today, and now my entire apartment smells like a chemical plant. I tried cracking open the windows to no avail, and I’ve got a raging headache.”

“Somebody must’ve put a curse on that place, Mulder,” she smirks. “You haven’t pissed off any voodoo priests lately, have you?" 

"Not since that case in North Carolina.”

“Wow. That long, huh? Maybe the person responsible for gifting you with the waterbed was upset that you didn’t send them a thank you card.”

“Well, I’d be happy to send them one, if I knew who they were. It’d make a nice holder for the bill I’d tuck inside it for all the damages incurred since owning that thing.”

She laughs softly. She’s missed hearing his voice, and it’s only been a few hours since they’ve parted ways after work. 

“Muder, why don’t you stay here?” The question all-too-easily attaches itself to the end of her laugh, as if she were asking him to pass the salt or hand her a pen, not stay the night at her place, and suddenly they both fall silent. 

She can feel the tension build between them at her impulsive suggestion, compounded by the fact that being on the phone offers little in the way of being able to gauge his reaction through facial expressions or body language, and she wonders if she’s crossed a line. 

He’s never stayed at her apartment before, at least not without a life-threatening situation to warrant it. There’s a reason for that, she’s sure. A reason she’s having an exceedingly difficult time remembering why, especially lately. Especially after hallway near-kisses and medication-induced love confessions, and one-too-many hungry, stolen glances over paperwork in their office late at night.

“Nah– I, I, I couldn’t. I don’t wanna be a bother. It’s late. Besides, the smell isn’t that bad if I don’t breathe.”

“Nonsense,” she says because, at this point, she’s already committed. (And because of other reasons she’s already pushed to the back of her mind.) “I insist, Mulder. I’ve got a perfectly good couch with your name on it.”

Her heart is thumping so loudly in her ears as she awaits his response, she nearly misses it.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asks after she notices they’ve both been quiet for way too long.

“I, uh, said, ‘yes’. Yeah. Sure, that’d be great, Scully. If you’re positive it wouldn’t be an imposition on your Wednesday night plans.”

“Mulder, I’m folding laundry,” she jokes, hoping to put him at ease– hoping to put _herself_ at ease– with her sarcastic banter. “You’d be doing me a favor by distracting me with your company.”

“I am pretty great at distracting you. Especially from getting any work done. It’s a gift, really,” he boasts.

“In this case, I could definitely benefit from your talents. So, I’ll, uh, see you in a few?”

“Okay– yeah, see you in a few. And, Scully?”

“Mmmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. What are friends for?”

They both hang up and her cheeks puff as she lets out a hefty sigh, vigorously rubbing her palms back and forth across her thighs in an attempt to dissipate some of the nervous energy surging through her veins.

_What has she gotten herself into? Why did she blurt out an invitation for him to sleep over?_

It was more complicated than merely extending him a friendly courtesy. But not much more. In fact, she really just… missed him. Plain and simple. 

That, and she’d been having a difficult time sleeping since the robbery case on Monday. She keeps having nightmares. Vivid scenes of that day at the bank creep into her dreams, only they’re a slightly different variation on what actually occurred, and they always end up with Mulder bleeding out in her arms and her waking in a cold sweat. It feels so visceral, so real, that it nearly steals her breath away when it happens.

She wasn’t expecting to get a full eight hours tonight, anyway, but at least Mulder would have a decent chance at catching some shut-eye, and that fact comforted her some. He never got enough sleep.

•••••

They’re two beers each into a documentary on The Great Barrier Reef. Mulder has taken up residence on one side of the sofa, she on the other, and it feels so cozy having him here, so right, it’s almost unsettling. She doesn’t want to let herself get too used to it, knowing that this is just a one-time thing. He looks so rumpled and relaxed leaning against the cushions. The urge to scoot across the sea of pinstriped fabric, to snuggle against his side and perch her head atop his shoulder, is unbearable. 

It doesn’t help that he changed into a pair of pajama pants and t-shirt as soon as he arrived. She’s thankful, at least, that he didn’t strip to his boxers. She only has so much willpower. Especially, with alcohol and no sleep a part of the equation.

“Hey, Scully,” he says and the warm, lazy timbre of his voice nearly makes her shudder. 

“Mmm?” Her head rolls against the back of the couch as she glances at him.

“That fish totally looks like Skinner.”

“Oh my God. It does!” she laughs. “Remember that time you house sat for him when he went away to Jamaica for a week? You found all those wigs stuffed inside a shoebox?”

“That was creepy. Besides, how was I supposed to know not to open the box? I was looking for the spare key to the sliding glass doors." 

"In a shoebox, Mulder? What do you think he uses them for, anyway?” She scrunches her nose, imagining Skinner with a wig on.

“Definitely, definitely for his weekend clubbing escapades. I bet he even has a pair of tight leather pants stashed away in his closet somewhere to go with them.”

“Oh, c'mon,” she rolls her eyes playfully. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Hey, don’t knock the leather pants.”

“Tell me you don’t have a pair, Mulder. Please,” she says, eyebrows poised high against her forehead. “Mulderrr?”

“No,” he chuckles after a beat and she sighs in relief. “No, I don’t have a pair. Would you think it hot if I did?”

Hot? She’s pretty sure he’d look hot wearing a burlap sack. Not that she needs that image floating around in her head right now…

“Um, no,” she lies, blushing as she evades his penetrating gaze.

“Not even a little bit? 'Cause if you did, I’d go over to Skinner’s house right now and steal a pair,” he jokes.

“Are you trying to flirt with me, Mulder?” she smirks and immediately freezes as she realizes what she just said.

_Oh God, Oh God… where did that come from? Damn, alcohol._

“I’m always flirting with you, Scully. Keep up.” He winks cooly as he takes another swig of beer, and her heart pounds restlessly against her ribs.

She feels like she can’t breathe. Was he coming on to her? Suddenly, their situation feels a little too… intimate. Too dangerous. Too much like that other time she drank wine and poured her heart out to someone who looked at her almost exactly the way Mulder was looking at her now. She needed to put the brakes on things before they did something they’d both regret.

“It's… late,” she mock yawns, stretching for good measure, as she gets up to leave. “There’s, um, extra towels in the cupboard. You can have the shower first, if you want. My alarm usually goes off at seven.”

“Scully, I didn’t mean–”

“No, no, it’s– it’s not that. I’m just tired, is all. I haven’t really slept much these last few nights.”

“If you’re sure–”

“It’s fine, Mulder, really. You have enough blankets? I can get more…”

“No, no… I’m good,” he says as he looks at her longingly, and she feels that familiar flutter in her stomach. “G'night, Scully." 

"Night, Mulder,” she smiles shyly, turning to walk towards her bedroom. 

Her empty bed lies in wait and a cold chill runs through her as she limply climbs under the sheets. She never knew she could feel so lonely, even with Mulder so close by.

•••••

_“Mulder, no… Please, please stay with me.”_

_God, there’s so much blood. Too much. He’s bleeding too quickly. Pressure. I’ve got to use more pressure. God, why did he have to come here? Why today?_

_“I'm… I…” he gurgles._

_Blood is seeping from his mouth. No, no, no, please. Please, don’t do this to me. Not now. Not like this._

_“Shhh, don’t talk right now. Just breathe, Mulder, you hear me. Don’t you dare stop breathing.”_

_Don’t you dare leave me. He’s too pale. His breathing is shallow. God, do something, Dana! Think. Think! For Christ’s sake, you can’t let him die!_

_“Scul… I… I… lov–”_

_No. No, don’t say it. Not like this. Mulder, not like this. You hear me?_

_Mulder? Mulder!_

“Scully? Scully!” Mulder’s voice echoes faintly through her ears. “Scully, wake up.”

Her eyes fly open in a panic as she sits up, her blurry eyes adjusting in the darkness as Mulder’s face comes into focus. He’s kneeling next to her on the edge of the bed.

“Mulder? What’s wrong?” she says breathlessly, her eyes darting around the room.

“You were having a nightmare.”

_Oh_. 

“I was?”

“Mhmmm,” he says as he brushes away a sweaty strand of hair clinging to her forehead. Her skin tingles where he touches her, tiny goosebumps rippling out from the point of contact like a pebble tossed in a pond.

“I, uh, I’ve been having them lately. Nightmares,” she says softly, her racing pulse starting to slow with each soothing pass of his fingers.

“About that case? The bank robbery?” he asks.

“How did you know?”

“I heard you.”

“It’s the same one every night. You, um, you end up getting shot. And I– I’m unable to save you,” she chokes back a strangled sob, trying not to break in front of him. She already feels too vulnerable, right now, with him in the sanctity of her bedroom, so close that she can feel his breath on her sweat-tinged skin.

“Oh, Scully,” he whispers. “Why didn’t you mention anything?" 

"I guess I just thought they’d go away. In time. I’m okay. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry,” she says, more for herself than for him.

Finally, her eyes search his through the cascade of darkness that falls between them and she can see the unspoken feelings of doubt, of restraint and concern, knitted between his brows. Her hand itches to reach out to him, to touch the stubble on his jaw, to flit across the swell of his bottom lip. Instead, she curls her hand into a fist, grabbing her sheets tightly, as she waits for the moment to pass. It always does.

“I guess, uh, if you’re okay, I’ll go back to the couch,” he says hesitantly as he rises to his feet. He makes it to her doorway, a slight falter in his steps as he reaches the threshold, and her heart pounds in her chest.

“Wait.” The word rattles around in her head before it escapes her throat in a soft whisper. “Don’t go.”

The shadow of his form stands motionless as she waits for him to make his decision. 

“Please,” she says so quietly, she’s not entirely sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. That she didn’t just think the word into existence.

Without delay, he walks to the other side of her mattress and climbs in, settling himself behind her atop the sheets to cocoon her safely in his arms.

The scent of him, masculine and warm, fills her nostrils and she breathes him in like he’s the only oxygen she needs. As his breaths slow, so does his racing heart, bringing hers long with it, and before she realizes it, she’s found herself in a deep, relaxing sleep. 

No nightmares. No monsters. No haunted dreams. 

She wakes and he’s still there– half in and out of the covers, limbs tangled with hers, jaw relaxed in blissful slumber, and a smile creeps across her face.

She could get used to this.


End file.
